Death's Whisper
by Raven17
Summary: What might have been whispered between Miggs and Lecter before Miggs' dead body was found...


V

V. Miggs was boring Doctor Lecter to an extreme degree. He had been listening to Miggs whine and carry on with a crazy man's demeanor throughout the morning. He was apparently excited because he heard news of a new rehabilitation/therapy program that could represent the freedom of select individuals at asylums throughout the States. Within his limited sanity, Miggs was relishing in the hope that he would be chosen.

Lecter had made it quite clear that he did not wish to speak about the program's potential anymore. It was becoming tedious, and he could not conceal his anger much longer. He quickly dismissed Miggs's current babblings and pursued what had been agonizing him since Clarice's visit.

"Tell me, Vincent, what did you think of Agent Starling?" Hannibal was standing up, pressed close against the brick boundary that set him apart from Miggs's cell.

"Did you think she was pretty? Did you like her outfit?" He paused a while, waiting for a response. Near a minute passed until he continued the questioning, "Did you like her scent?" 

Finally, he received the low, psychotic laughter from Multiple Miggs. Lecter could tell he had been sitting or lying on the ground, also pressed against the wall. "I can smell your cunt!" Miggs needlessly reminded them both of what he had said to Clarice. He repeated himself one more time, in the break of his fits of hilarity, and then quoted himself on his second attention to her, "I bit my wrist, so I can die! See the blood…"

"Oh you did let her see it my friend. But who could blame you? A pretty young women, flaunting her tight little body, strutting past your cell as she did. Can you remember it Vincent, can you remember her smell?" He talked slowly, to ensure Miggs could hear and process every word.

Lecter took the silent opportunity to take a deep inhalation of the air, just as he had done in Clarice's presence. This time, he made more of an effort to produce sound, ending with a slightly orgasmic sigh. He heard noise now, coming from the joining cell, and knew instantly the actions of his crazy "friend". The barely audible moans reinstated Lecter's initial assumption. He grimaced at the thought of the greasy man envisioning scenarios, exchanges, fucking her…

"What do your find most exciting-your verbal harassment to the young woman, or your vile and degrading act of marking her face with your cum?" Lecter took a break to let the doomed man's lack of thought process catch up.

  
"You are hated and despised by the rest of us, especially since your actions against Clarice." Hannibal's bitter tone was unrelenting and pierced the solid barrier between them.

"Who—who is Clarice?" Miggs's voice was shaky, drawn out…edged with tears.

"Agent Starling, Vincent. Please try to keep up now, I assure you, this conversation is soon coming to an end."

"She's mad at me isn't she? She wanna kill me. Why does everyone wanna kiiill me? He..he..I'm already dead!" Miggs was sobbing through his strained whispers.

"No, no, no. You are far from it. You are living and obnoxious, and also wrong. I have no knowledge of Agent Starling anticipating your death, nor do I know if our neighbors want the same. I, however, must admit that it is my every intention to promote it." Lecter gave no time for a response.

"You and I both know that you have no chance at succeeding in a rehabilitation-therapy program. Just as well, Chilton and the entire Justice board think the same. They have written you off as manic-depressive, multi-personality, and schizophrenic. This means, of coarse, that you have no chance whatsoever, of leaving this dungeon. Vincent…you are nobody. To everyone around you, you are only known as is 'the crazy fuck' in cell 9; Multiple Miggs."

"You have nobody. No chance of freedom. No reason to be here. And, what's more important is the fact that you are fully aware of this. You may try to pull off the insanity plea with the others, but it won't work on me. You know very good and well that you are a worthless, disgusting disgrace for a man, and will forever be a nuisance to yourself and everyone else while you're alive. I'll pardon your ignorance of my case history. I'm sure you are too preoccupied with your own perverseness to interest yourself with me. What you do need to know, Vincent, is that I will not tolerate the kind of blatant rudeness you twice displayed to Agent Starling."

Lecter stepped away from the cold brick, just enough for Miggs to hear him. "I'm sure you can come up with a suitable means of suicide."

Hannibal was pleased to hear the genuine fear in the sick man's voice as he stuttered, "H-h-how?"

On cue, Lecter finished the conversation. "I advise that you come up with a solution, my dear friend, it will be in both of our best interests. You have ample intelligence to know that I will make no promises without the intention of fulfilling them. I'm making a promise to you now, that if you cannot muster enough of your blubbering depression to remove yourself from my presence, then I will complete the task for you. I pity you if you do not think me capable of doing so. I sincerely hope you choose wisely."

Lecter spoke to the weeping man no more. Throughout the rest of the afternoon he would whistle along with classical tunes that only he could hear, but he did not speak another word. His thoughts found themselves on the FBI Agent, Clarice Starling. Ambitious, eager, beautiful…battered by Hannibal's own harshness. After Miggs's assault, she was fully broken. Desperately she tried to hide the defeated look, but her attempt was no match for the wet milky poison that clung to her skin and shining hair. 

Sometime during the night, Vincent Miggs would be dead. Lecter wished he could see the look on little Starling's face when she heard the news.


End file.
